


The Boat That Rocked

by barghest



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: A Beautiful Day On The Sea, Boats and Ships, Community: hannibalkink, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sailing, Seasickness, Sharing a Bed, just bc i mention upchuck yknow, not graphically tho, sad cannibal is sad (and sickly)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 10:00:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4824608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barghest/pseuds/barghest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A romantic day out on Will's boat - sun, sea, birds, and a cannibal devoid of sea legs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boat That Rocked

**Author's Note:**

> apparently i can't get enough of doing fills for the kinkmeme.  
> prompt here: http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/4963.html?thread=7972963 !!  
> i had to research boats for this yknow - will's boat is a small cruising yacht, theyre usually more like twenty to thirty five foot long, decent cabin underneath with mod cons etc. i was lookin back at when he sails to italy and its prob a small cruiser, with one bay, a small main cabin with galley (kitchen) and navigation, and a bathroom with a shower.
> 
> anyway. enjoy \o/

"I like to repair boats," is not the most seductive pastime a man could have, but Will endears himself to Hannibal enough the rest of the time that the doctor finds fit not to mind. He almost forgets Will's fishier hobby altogether - until one weekend, the agent asks him out for a day trip. A day at sea, how romantic.

"Are we to wear lifejackets?," perhaps it's a little too late to ask, Hannibal wonders, as he stands on a breezy pontoon, feeling woefully underdressed as the wood creaks beneath his Oxfords. Will positively scampers about the small boat bobbing in the water, testing ropes and adjusting the sails before he acknowledges Hannibal's question.

"I've got one," Will is a little sheepish, "if you'd feel better wearing it?"

Hannibal nods gravely, "it certainly would." Will nods and disappears below deck for a moment, leaving the doctor to contemplate his past experiences with boats - it's been mostly ferries and cruise ships, he has to admit. The sort of boats that don't sway and wobble wildly with every passing wave, upon which one can ensconce themselves away from the sea air. No such luck with Will's boat, which Hannibal estimates to be around twenty two foot in length, the painting flaking a little around the name on the hull.

Will's dark curls re-emerge and he holds out a red lifejacket, standing precariously between the boat and the dock, "put it on before you get on, if you want." He balances with admirable ease on the vessel's edge, taking Hannibal's hand once the doctor is kitted out, pulling him aboard. Hannibal wobbles, stomach churning a little as he stumbles gracelessly to the centre of the boat - the whole thing rocks from side to side, and Will has to hold him up for a few moments.

"Perhaps I should sit down," Hannibal makes for the back bench of the yacht, the two steps taking an eternity.

"Maybe a good idea," Will gives him a pitying look - powers of empathy strong enough to peel back Hannibal's usual collected mask and spot the slightly green psychiatrist underneath, hands gloved to hide a small sheen of sweat. 

They cast off fairly peacefully - it's breezy, but the tide is gentle, and Will makes an attempt to educate his boat-guest about their surroundings; the boat itself is a cruising yacht called _Harvest Moon_ , classed most peculiarly as a _trailer sailer_ or something, of Will seems quite proud. Hannibal offers him a warm smile as Will gets enthused over the vessel's twin keels that retract into the hull, and the new jib he has bought recently (it looks no different to any other boat, to Hannibal's uneducated eyes, but he makes no such comment). 

"Brown pelican!," Will leans over the side of the boat, adjusting the rudder so the boat leans to the side - Hannibal slides up to him on the seat, a hand clutching at the bench as his stomach turns again - to face a large bird sat on the water. "They're pretty common to the Chesapeake area, but still," he looks to Hannibal, who is paling a little. "Are you alright?"

Hannibal swallows, "absolutely marvellous, Will."

"Hannibal," Will's tone is more worried than warning, but suddenly the wind picks up, the pelican lumbering into flight and skirting low over the boat, a wing slapping Hannibal in the face on the way past. The boat keels in the other direction and Will stands to grab the boom before it swings round as well - a slightly dazed Hannibal slides across the yacht's rear bench, expression paling a little more.

He must admit, Will does look quite good - his pose heroic as he gains control of the vessel with ease, one leg up on the side as he adjusts the sails, wind whipping through his hair, eyes hard and determined behind his glasses, waves splashing against his leg - Hannibal places a hand delicately across his mouth at the last part. Looking beyond the confines of the boat only worsens the tumult building within him, so he closes his eyes a little, trying to breathe evenly through his fingers.

"Nearly got it," Will is only mildly reassuring and Hannibal risks a glance at him - only to find the agent entirely up the other end of the yacht, wrangling with the sail as sea spray glitters in the sun again. Hannibal closes his eyes again and thinks of the comforting warmth of his arm chair, secure on dry land next to the fire. A good book after work, the crackle a comforting soundtrack to his left, the turn of a page under his hand. On particularly lazy evening, he would take a small dish and eat there, usually dessert. Hannibal accidentally envisages an ice cream sundae, and feels himself become quite green.

"Almost," Will pushes his glasses up his nose with one finger, before returning to working on the jib, pulling flapping canvas back into place, "sorry about this, Hannibal. Hannibal?" He looks round, only the doctor's lower half visible over the side of the vessel. Steadying himself on the bow, Will scrambles back round, hopping down onto the boat's small main deck, hands grasping the back of Hannibal's jacket. The doctor's expression is almost woeful as he's pulled back.

Will rubs his back gently, "bit seasick?" Hannibal nods a little in reply - another decent sized wave slaps against the hull and he lurches to the side again, crumpling back over. Verbal comfort was never Will's strong point, so he merely rubs the other's back in gentle circles, the same soft noises that he uses on sick dogs escaping his mouth.

"Will--," Hannibal straightens for half a second, a hand reaching to smooth his fringe, but he ends up doubled over again, knees shaking as the boat rocks more ominously.

Eventually, Will pulls him to sit on the floor, hands reassuring as they tug Hannibal's clothing back into place before he moves away to drop anchor. The doctor's eyes are pleading as he moves away, but Will is back within moments, pulling Hannibal below decks to the cramped cabin space beneath the waves.

"We may need, ah, two lifejackets, Will," Hannibal is still grey, one hand tight on his own flotation device, as Will steers him towards the small bed.

"S'fine," Will shakes his head a little, arms around the wobbly doctor even as he descends to the mattress, "we'll just wait it out before heading back." He receives a disapproving look, "we're fine. I've dropped anchor and the boat'll rock less down here."

"Hmm," is all Hannibal trusts himself to say, the nausea still rolling over his torso in uncomfortably frequent waves. His stomach is empty, but the world continues to shake and roll around him, so he welcomes the embrace of the blankets, tugging them over himself. Will removes both their footwear, placing them neatly (more for Hannibal's benefit than his own) against the wall before sitting on the edge of the bed beside the invalid.

He tries to sound reassuring, "it's not a proper storm, just a spring tide. It'll go in a few hours." Under untidy locks, Hannibal broods a little, still quite pale. Will's hands sift through Hannibal's hair, then move down to unbutton his coat and loosen his tie - _a tie, Hannibal_ , Will chides him mentally for his rigorous dress sense. Untucking Hannibal's shirt is almost a crime, but colour slowly creeps back to his face as he pulls the blankets back up over himself.

"I am afraid," Hannibal regains his voice only once Will gives in, stripping off his own jacket, and nestles down into his side, "that I do not have good _sea legs_."

Will chances a soft smile, "give yourself time."

"I somewhat doubt it," the reply is sharp, but Hannibal's voice is too weak to sound obtuse. Will noses at his collar a little, shifting himself under the covers to press closer. He hasn't lied - the roll of the boat is less strong down here, more of a gentle hand rocking the cradle they have slid into. The rush of water against the hull is quieter, their breathing just audible over the soft creaks as the boat adjusts itself in the water.

"I feel as if I deserve a kiss," Hannibal murmurs, eyes half open, face almost returned to his normal complexion, "for my suffering."

Will's lips smile against Hannibal's neck, hand squeezing his under the blankets, "brush your teeth first."


End file.
